5 Days
by Dean's Girl 2010
Summary: Sam has been missing for 3 days before John gets back in town. Dean is convinced it's just some normal 12 year old running away stuff but his father isn't so sure and takes his feelings out on his oldest. Contains emotional and physical abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Five Days

Dean was scared. He was scared for his brother, his brother was missing, had been for almost 3 days. The only thing that kept Dean from going completely mad was the note that he left saying he needed a few days. The other fear that taunted his spirit was a bit selfish but was the deeper of the two. Dean knew it should be the other way around but he couldn't help it. He just knew that Sammy was safe; figured he'd feel it if he wasn't but Dean knew for a fact that he himself soon would not be.

His Dad was coming home today. John didn't beat him often but he beat him enough. He wasn't a bad Dad, Dean reassured himself, he only beat Dean when he deserved it and he never hit Sammy. He would never hurt Sammy. Dean quickly stood when he heard the distinctive sound of the Impala pulling into the motel's parking lot. He went through his speech in his head: Sammy left a note; I've looked all over; I don't think he's hurt.

The door knob turned and Dean tried hard not to take a step back, his breath and heartbeat quickening. The door opened showing a weary and dirty John. "Hey Dad." John grunted at his older son, tossing his duffle on the floor next to the first bed before sitting heavily on it. "So, uh, Dad."

"What Dean?" John ground out harshly, it had been anything but a smooth hunt and the last thing he wanted was a groveling Dean.

"Sammy…" Dean paused unsure how to say what he needed to.

"Sammy, what? Just talk Dean!" John growled raising his voice slightly.

"Sammy's gone." John's eyes widened, sitting upright on the bed all weariness forgotten. "He just ran away sir, left a note, and took his things. I'm sure he's fine." Dean quickly continued.

"You're sure he's fine." John pulled himself up to his full height and took one step toward his son. "You know what's out there and you think he's fine."

John had crossed the room now and had his son's shirt collar fisted tightly within his hand. "Dad…I…" A quick punch to his cheekbone paused his sentence. "Sir, please, I've looked everywhere." Dean braced for another strike, surprised when the hand clutching his shirt loosened and allowed him to once again stand on his own feet.

"You've looked everywhere." The words that came out of John's mouth dripped with danger. "Just how long has your brother been missing."

Dean gulped, subconsciously taking a step backward. "Two days sir." The distance that Dean had put between him and his father quickly disappeared, "TWO DAYS." John yelled punctuating each word with a punch to his son's abdomen. Dean gasped; his knees buckled and sent him to the ground.

"Do you not understand the terrible things that could've already happened to the boy!" John continued kicking his son in the chest, stomach, and legs repeatedly. "I'm sorry." Dean yelled, trying to curl away from his father's mean boot.

"You're sorry, you're sorry." John mimicked harshly, reaching down to pull his son to his feet. "And if Sammy is already dead, his body already mangled, what will your sorry mean then."

Dean groaned harshly as his head and body connected painfully with the wall only to be pulled back and pushed into it again. John held his son up by the shoulder and littered hits onto the boy's abdomen seeing only red. The older brother screamed as a rib snapped, "Please…" Dean sobbed when he had caught his breath.

"Do you really think they stopped when Sammy asked?" John questioned harshly, imagining the worst possibilities when it came to his youngest, moving the assault to his older son's face.

Dean gasped between hits, praying for it to end, praying for his father to stop. Finally John allowed him to drop to the floor. "You better pray I find him tonight." John hissed as he left his bleeding and barely conscious son to look for the younger.

Dean lay on the floor long after his father had left, sweeping his hand across his nose to keep the blood from landing on the floor and hugging his ribs. Breathing hurt, everything hurt. His eyes teared and Dean let them. He deserved this. Sammy ran away on his watch. What if something did happen to him…what if.

He pulled himself off of the floor, groaning loudly. He did hope his Dad would return with his brother. Dean pulled himself onto the bed, exhaustion overcoming him; he had not slept in 2 nights.

When John did arrive back it was not with his brother but with a renewed anger, the door had barely shut before Dean felt himself being dragged off the bed that he had accidentally fallen asleep on. "Well I can see how much your brother means to you." John spit out grabbing his son's ankle as he attempted to crawl away his arm wrapped tightly around his bruised and broken ribs.

"I'm sorry…" Dean stuttered knowing it would do no good to argue.

"Take off your shirt." John stated coldly, pulling his belt off with a snap.

"No, Dad, please, no…" John grabbed his short hair roughly, "What did you say?"

"Yes, sir." Dean corrected, closing his eyes as his ribs creaked in protest as he raised his hands over his head to relinquish his shirt.

Dean had just barely removed the garment before he felt the first strike from the belt hit his skin; he hissed. The lashing continued until he had counted 15 strikes, the last couple drawing blood from his reddened flesh.

"You better pray that I find your brother tomorrow because each day he's gone is another day of misery for you." John spoke quietly but with promise, stepping over his oldest to reach the restroom.

Dean breathed shallowly his face buried in the carpet. His back was on fire, his ribs protesting each movement, and his face was swollen. He didn't dare to move, not until his father was sleeping anyway. He definitely didn't want to invite another beating.

Dean waited about a half an hour for his Dad to walk over him to get to bed and another 15 minutes before his Father's heavy snoring could be heard. Dean got up gingerly cradling his ribs and being careful not to shift his back and tiptoed to the restroom. Once inside he looked at his face and ribs amazed by the purple patchwork that was already starting to form. Dean couldn't see his back well but he could feel the stickiness where the blood had leaked from the red stripes. He didn't dare to shower, not when his Dad was already angry with him. Instead Dean crept toward the bed he would've normally shared with Sammy and carefully laid on his side so as not to put pressure on his ribs or back. Sammy better be alright.

Day 4:

Dean woke before his Father on the fourth day of Sammy's absence. His back was still tender but didn't sting quite as much as it had the night before, the swelling in his face had seemed to have went down, but his ribs still hurt like crazy.

He quietly eased off the bed careful not to allow even a hiss of pain to escape his lips. He needed to shower, to wash the tension from his muscles, and he needed to find Sam, preferably all before his father woke up. The shower was the first step.

Once in the bathroom Dean allowed himself a quiet intake of breath as he had to bend down to turn the water on and a groan as the water sprayed over the sensitive flesh of his back. Last night had been rough; his body had kept him awake for hours and his concern for Sammy's safety even more. Today Dean would show his Dad the note and see if he could get more clues out of it. The idea of approaching his father was an intimidating one but Sam's safety was most important. He was just a soldier.

Dean turned off the water, his body immediately missing the warm and relaxing spray and carefully stepped out of the shower, his arm once again cradling his ribs.

Dean was sitting on the bed when his father came back that evening. When he had shown the note to his father in the morning and suggested a direction all Dean got was a snide remark and an order to sit tight. After that Dean had sat on the bed, praying that his Dad would return with his brother in tow and now the moment of truth was here.

Dean was quiet, watching his Father stomp more than walk over to the bed. He looked weary and crestfallen. "No luck." The older Winchester attempted.

"Luck…luck. If you had kept your eye on your brother, like you assured me you would luck wouldn't have to be involved in our lives right now!" John thundered red returning to his vision. His son seemed to shrink in front of him, getting smaller and smaller and more insignificant. Dean kept quiet but the damage had already been done, John Winchester's fists quickly flew toward his son's face and body, giving him no time to react. Another rib cracked, his lip split, and one square punch to the kidney and Dean was once again lying on the floor. John grabbed his leg and flipped him over, stepping on the leg to keep Dean where he was before removing his belt and beginning the punishment.

Dean lay on the floor unable to form the words to stop the torture. His injured and broken ribs jabbed into his side and lungs, leaving him gasping for air. The only sound was the belt whistling and snapping as it hit his already sore flesh. The blood came quicker now and soon Dean could feel it dripping off his back and dropping toward the berber carpet. When the belt finally stopped Dean let out an inaudible sigh of relief but it was preemptive. He felt the iron toe of a boot kick into his side, cracking yet another rib followed by another and another. Finally the torment was over. Dean lay gasping on the floor unable to move. John stood over the motionless boy, "You disgust me."

The door closed and the sixteen year old ghost and werewolf hunting Dean silently cried.

Day Five:

Dean woke early again, if you could call it waking up considering he had barely slept. His concern for Sammy was growing; he had really thought that he would've made his way home by now. Everyone needed a break now and then especially a twelve year old but five days without any communication was a bit excessive.

Dean stepped outside of the motel door, careful not to go too far for fear of angering John. He needed some air. He stood surveying the general area, "Where are you Sam?" Dean whispered speaking to no one in particular, "Where did you go?" Suddenly Dean's eyes lighted upon the library tower a couple of streets over. The library of course, a place where Dean and his Dad would never think to go; Sam must be squatting near the library! Dean was so excited about his breakthrough he forgot the tense spot that he and his father were currently in. Dean rushed into the room, "Dad! I think I know where he may be. I think I figured it out!" John was just pulling himself out of bed when Dean rushed into the room leaving the door open and the sunlight pouring in.

John didn't even say a word but a rough hand quickly clamped around Dean's neck and his body was roughly pushed against the open door effectively slamming it. Dean clawed at his Dad's fingers trying desperately to breathe in the oxygen his body so desperately needed. Black spots were just beginning to dance in front of his vision when his father dropped him mercilessly onto the floor. His ankle collapsed beneath him bringing a queasy rolling to his stomach. "You figured it out, huh?" His Dad graveled out. Whiskey had always made his Dad's voice drop in pitch. "Well you figured it out about 5 days too late." Dean steeled himself for the onslaught of hits that were sure to come but was surprised when rough hands did not grab him again. "You worthless piece of trash, you are nothing. This family would be better off without you, do you hear me!" John yelled harshly staring down at the boy that looked so much like his Mary. "You had one job…one job! Keep Sammy safe and you failed yet again. You are so lucky that your mother saw some worth in you cause I sure don't." Dean stared at his Father the words hurting far more that the physical beatings he had before. "It would be better for us all if you just died." John sneered at the boy in front of him, the taste of too much whiskey coating his mouth.

Dean watched as his Father walked toward the restroom and closed the door before pulling his fragile body off the floor. His father was right he was worthless. How had he not considered the library before this? How had that not been his very first thought? If Sammy was hurt or worse yet dead it was purely his fault. How could he have been so foolish as to believe that his brother would get to run away like a normal twelve year old boy. Worthless.

When his Father got out of the bathroom, Dean was sitting stock straight on the one straight backed chair in the room. His father walked past and out the door without a word. As soon as his father was out of sight Dean opened the laptop immediately typing in the plans for the city.

Two hours later Dean had a fairly strong lead. Four blocks from the library was an abandoned tool shed that had been left since the house had burnt down two years prior. The shed was between the library and the school, a place that Sam would've passed daily when going directly from the middle school to the library to meet up with Dean who came from the other side of town. He was convinced, if his brother had run away that's where he would be. It took another 15 minutes after typing out the coordinates for him to press send. He knew that if this information happened to be wrong there would be hell to pay and even if it was correct he could still pay a steep price.

Dean waited. His ribs and back killed and given a different mood he probably would've been trying to figure out which was worse, leaning on his back to give him ribs a break or sitting straight up to give his back a break. Luckily the bruising to his face had gone down considerably. Finally two hours after Dean had sent the text he got a text from his Dad; _Got Sam. Pack up. Wrap ribs._ Dean breathed a light sigh of relief, Sam was safe. He had simply run away like Dean had thought. His second thought was a bit more selfish as he realized that hopefully with Sammy back safe and sound maybe he would be safe, maybe they could find some peace but that was still to be determined. The fact that dad told him to wrap his ribs did seem to be encouraging at least.

By the time Sam and his Dad arrived Dean had packed all the duffels and wrapped his purpled sides and stomach. It had been more than painful and was definitely an experience he didn't want to have again and yet knew that he likely would. Dean looked quickly in the mirror knowing that his family would be here soon but also knowing that he needed to ensure that Sam wouldn't notice his slightly less than perfect complexion. His face was swollen but only slightly; nothing that a little extra training couldn't explain away. His neck however was covered in a ring of green, purple, and blue bruises that could not be hidden. He popped his collar nervously, praying that Sam would not notice and make an issue.

Ten minutes later he was not disappointed. Dean walked out to meet the shiny black Impala that held a moody looking Sam and an intimidating looking John who was clearly giving him the 'you keep your injuries to yourself look'. Dean quickly loaded the duffels in the back and slowly lowered himself into the Impala working hard to keep his face from showing the intense pain that the action caused. He had planned on saying hello to Sam but at the moment he was holding his breath to stop the cry of pain that wanted to escape his lips as his raw back met with the leather of baby's seats and his ribs attempted to shift back into their natural positions again.

An uneasy silence reigned in the car for a full minute before Dad turned on the music and pulled out of the motel parking lot. Dean watched it go wishing that the memories that were made here would go away as well. His eyes than turned toward Sam and caught what looked like a glimmer of nostalgia already forming.

Day Six

John drove through the night and much of the morning. Sammy had crashed long ago in the front seat exhausted by the adventure that he had enjoyed and only John and Dean remained awake. Sometime around 6:00 am John stopped the car, glanced over at Sammy and stepped out of the Impala onto the deserted highway. Dean set his jaw, knowing that whatever his father's reason was he wasn't going to like it.

Dean's door opened and he allowed himself to be pulled out, knowing better than to cry out and wake up Sammy. He was pulled down the road by his arm his feet struggling to catch up. Once they were a fair ways away from the Impala, John turned toward him. "He could've died." John yelled harshly once again aiming punches all over his son's body. John kicked Dean's legs out from under him causing him to fall toward the ground. Within seconds John was on top of him, hitting and cussing him out. Dean tried to block his punches but it didn't do a lot of good. John stood abruptly and drew pistol that he kept in his waistband of his jeans pointing it directly at his son's face.

Dean's eyes widen, his hands rising above his head, tears beginning to form but he refused to let them fall. Instead he said two words, "Please…Dad."

John paused and then slowly lowered the gun. He gazed upon his oldest finally turning around and walking back toward the Impala. "We'll see how you like being on your own. You can meet us at the next motel."

Dean was still lying motionless on the ground when the Impala sped past him, leaving him and his broken ribs to find their own way to motel his family would be waiting at. He groaned when even the thought of getting up crossed him mind but he quickly pushed it aside. He deserved this, Dad was right, Sammy could've died and it would have been all his fault.

The walk to the hotel was difficult to say the least, his ribs protested every movement, his ankle creaked and refused to bend as it began to swell, and he was now fairly convinced that he had a mild concussion. Luckily his Dad was fairly predictable when it came to the motels that he chose and has gotten the closest one to the highway.

When Dean reached the motel room that the Impala was parked in front of, he quietly picked the lock knowing that his father would rather that than wake up his brother. That was something that he didn't have to be afraid of however as the moment that he opened the door his Dad and brother both looked toward the door from the table near the door. "Oh good Dean you're back." John said with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "Did the gas station have what you were looking for?" Dean shook his head knowing that playing along was essential with Sam up and about. "I was just telling Sam about your idea of where to find him, pretty sharp." This time the smile met his eyes and Dean knew that it was okay again.

"What can I say I know my little bro." Sammy smiled at him apparently the teenage mood swing was over.

"So what do you boys say to some grub?" Dean and Sam both nodded eagerly, Dean could rest later but for now he needed to be with his family.


	2. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

It had been a week since Sam's reappearance and John watched his eldest son from across the room. Dean was doing a wonderful job pretending not to be hurt but every now and then when he believed no one was watching he would let down his guard and the true extent of his injuries would show. Luckily Dean had always been a quick healer and the bruising around his neck had healed completely and the ribs were getting better as well. It had been harder to keep an eye on those injuries but John had managed to catch a few peeks when Dean wasn't expecting him to be around.

He had gone too far. He had never hurt his son like he had this time. He had beaten him, sure; to toughen him up, to learn a lesson, to blow off some steam but he had never hurt him the way he had when Sam was gone. It scared him, he hadn't been in control anymore and he couldn't stop. All he could think about was his youngest, the fragile baby that Mary had left in his charge was gone and he didn't know where. He saw red, the red he saw when he caught the scent of the thing that killed Mary and left him and his boys alone but that wasn't Dean. Dean, the four year old boy full of wonder and joy and sweetness, the boy who had Mary's eyes and Mary's smile, how could he have hurt HIS Dean? The guilt was almost too much to bear.

John had tried to broach the subject of an apology for a week now but none of his words were going to make the situation better. He had pointed a gun at his own flesh; he had said the most terrible things. If anyone was useless in this family it was him; the revenge obsessed maniac who single handedly screwed up every good relationship in his life. No, any words he spoke would seem dead and worthless. It was time for a change, a big change. The abuse of his eldest son needed to stop. That's what it was he now realized he was doing with clarity; he abused his son, physically and emotionally as well. It needed to end.

Dean cringed as he reached to pick up the sock that had fallen from his duffle. That was all John needed to see, he would never again hit his son, never again would he allow his anger to get the better of him, and never again would he allow fear to rule his actions. Dean would be safe, as safe as John could control. John steeled his jaw, when a Winchester made a promise that promise was kept.

"Dean," John watched as his sons eyes raised to meet his and he was surprised by the warmth and understanding that resided in them, the warmth of his four year old Dean. "Yeah, Dad?"

"You want to go grab some pie?" Dean smiled broadly, "Heck yeah!" John smiled to himself it wasn't an apology but it was a start that he meant to carry on.


End file.
